


all i know are sad songs

by Analyse (D_Willims)



Series: it'll still be two days till we say we're sorry [11]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, I Heard A Rumor There's No Incest, I Just Apply Them Equally To All Hargreeves Siblings, If Klaus Gets To Use Being High As An Excuse, Luther Gets To Use Being High As An Excuse, To Miss Hazel and Cha-Cha Firing Guns At His Siblings Literally Inches Away, To Miss That Time Klaus Hit His Head And Sorta Died, Very Luther Friendly, fight me, i don't make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:21:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Willims/pseuds/Analyse
Summary: In which Luther and Klaus sort of talk, nothing is resolved, and things are better anyway.





	all i know are sad songs

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from "I Took A Pill In Ibiza" by Mike Posner & Seeb.
> 
> Series title from "One Week" by the Bare Naked Ladies.

Klaus doesn’t mean to wake Luther up. In large part because he didn’t know Luther had been sleeping on the couch. The couch has always been _his_ spot. His bedroom is oppressively claustrophobic. And, besides, the couch is so close when he finally stumbles in through the front door. It’s close to the bar, too. He’s a creature of comfort and convenience.

Once he notices Luther asleep on the couch, though, he does really and honestly try to be quiet. Thinks about finding one the blankets Mom always seems able to produce out of nowhere. They were all trying this good sibling thing, right? For Vanya’s sake at least. (Luther isn’t Vanya, of course. But Klaus can’t help but feel that he abandoned his brother, too.)

Except Klaus is trembling so hard that he’s surprised he’s even staying upright. So he puts the blanket quest on hold. He can be a better brother once he’s taken the edge off.

Upright, it turns out, is a bit of an overstatement. He trips over the raised corner of the bar and the shock of the floor against his knees takes all the air out of his lungs. After a shaky moment, where he’s sure he’s dizzier than he ought to be, he decides that crawling is better. Popping the already broken lock open was significantly easier than walking; more natural like remembering to breath. His fingers seize around a bottle—he’s not sure of what but he knows Daddy Dearest always sprung for the good stuff—when he hears the unmistakable sound of the couch springs.

The bottle slips from his grip and cracks against the floor but doesn’t break, rolls away from him. “Well, shit.”

“Is someone there?” Luther’s question is muffled by a yawn like he’s still half-asleep.

He’s also half-naked, Klaus realizes when rises to his knees to peer up over the edge. It’s only the third time he’s seen his brother in his full shirtless glory and the sight of it hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Surreal like seeing Ben’s ghost for the first time.

“Hey,” Luther says when his gaze finally lands on Klaus. His shoulders sink a little like he’s relieved and then he pushes himself to his feet. “I thought you were sober, now. Three days, right?”

That’s a bigger shock than Luther’s furry chest. Klaus has barely managed to keep track of this particular stint with sobriety. Honestly, they all started to blur and merge together in a singular moment of failure. And there was time travel and the apocalypse to worry about. He’s not even sure he has it right, but it always seemed more honest to count hours. “Fifty-some hours,” he corrects. Props his elbows on the bar, chin on his hands. Trying to act casual. “A boy gets thirsty, though.”

“Come on, Klaus.” Luther shuffles towards the bar, comes around the corner of it. Without tripping, which is really just a dick move on his part. He hides another yawn behind his hand—equally as furry as his chest and Klaus wonders how they’d missed it for so long. Idly, and strangely, Klaus feels a tiny pang of guilt for waking Luther up. And for not being there when the whole shebang went down.

He shakes that off, though. That kind of nonsense is the withdrawal talking. His teeth itch.

“You said you wanted to get sober.”

“Yeah, when I was high,” Klaus points out. “I make shitty decisions when I get high and you should never listen to me. Lord knows I don’t.”

Luther almost chuckles as he sits down. So close that Klaus _almost_ brushes against him when he twists back around to keep his eyes on Luther. Good. It was good to know that Luther hadn’t completely lost his sense of humor after four years on the moon. (Or longer than that; Klaus can’t remember the last time he really heard Luther laugh. Since before Allison left.)

“Look,” Luther _starts_ again. The speech about the importance of sobriety. Klaus has heard it all before; Ben really is a pest about it. “I know I haven’t been the best brother…”

“Look at the fucking mess you’re working with, though.” Klaus lifts his hand to twirl it dramatically. Trying to encompass himself and the house and the family as a concept in one gesture. It makes him weirdly dizzy, though, especially when he’s watching the trail of it through the air. And he sits more firmly on the floor. “Shit.”

“Are you alright?” Luther’s hands _hover_ near Klaus, like he’s ready to catch him if he faints dead away. Which is a distinct possibility. But Luther’s being so careful about not touching him and Klaus has never realized until now how _careful_ Luther has been about that all week. The way Luther hugs the wall when passing someone in the hall or withdraws his hand when there’s a fight for the last piece of toast.

And it’s only gotten _worse_ since the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, since they got Vanya back. One hug was all they got. Then it was a strict five feet away from everyone at all times. It had only been a day, but Klaus is honored to possibly be the first person to get closer. Or nauseated. Really, the feelings are very similar.

The world starts to tilt and goes wobbly at the edges. Dreamily beautiful and stomach-churning all at once. And Luther’s still just hovering. So Klaus tries to steer into it. Tilts in the opposite direction of the world so that he lands firmly against his brother’s chest. Luther is shockingly steady and Klaus closes his eyes.

“I thought you’d be softer,” he mumbles. The course hair scratches his cheek and Luther is still nothing but _solid_ muscle. “Jesus. We’re _old_ ; let yourself go a little.”

Luther’s breathing hitches, then he sucks in a long shuddering breath. For a second Klaus is worried that he’s somehow made Luther cry. _Again_. Even when they were kids, Luther barely ever cried and is was wholly disconcerting and uncomfortable. Klaus can’t keep being responsible for it. When Luther releases the breath, though, it’s almost a chuckle. Low and rumbling.

“We’re only twenty-nine,” Luther corrects and Klaus can’t see his smile—the one he hasn’t seen since they were maybe fifteen or sixteen—but he can hear it. An affection that’s been gone from Luther’s voice for so long. It warms the cockles of Klaus’s heart.

Klaus hums in response and curls up cat-like next to Luther. He’s proud of himself for not flinching when Luther’s arm comes to rest—awkward and unsure—around him. The touch is so unusual and Luther’s arm is _heavy_.

“You’re shaking,” Luther says.

“’S _cold_.”

“Well maybe if you put on actual clothes…”

That was, Klaus supposes, a fair point. The sleep shirt he borrowed from Allison was more pretty and flowy than a functional garment. On the other hand: “Have you ever tried sleeping in leather pants?” he counters. “ _That’s_ a mistake you only make five, six dozen times. At most.”

Klaus hadn’t packed much of anything for the funeral, after all; he hadn’t expected to stay. Certainly not more than a couple of days at least. And then, after Vietnam, he’d forgotten who he’d been hooking up with for a bed after rehab—Jackson, maybe, or Jason something. Either way, he’s pretty sure his stuff was gone for good.

There wasn’t that much and none of it mattered anyway. This was the stuff that mattered.

It’s quiet for a long time. The kind of quiet that Klaus recognizes as Luther thinking too hard about something. If he listens hard enough, he could probably hear the gears in his head winding around. Trying to work out a problem. And Klaus knows he should ask but instead he nearly drifts off because it’s _quiet_ for once.

“What happened?” Luther asks, abruptly dragging Klaus back to awareness.

It’s altogether too late and Klaus is too tired for such a vague question. But he gives it his best try. “Well, on the twelfth hour of the first day of October nineteen-eighty-nine, forty-three women all around the world…” Klaus cuts off with a hiss when Luther’s heavy fingers press against a sore spot on his skull. “Ow. What the _fuck_ , Luther? What did I ever do to you?” Rhetorically, of course, because he’s sure the actual list is endless.

“You have a knot,” Luther says. “I didn’t see you hit your head.”

Oh. “ _Oh_.” Klaus swallows and straightens a little, still leaning into Luther’s chest—a solid wall of muscle holding him up. This is important after all. “I died a little bit in the club. That asshole was going after you and I tried to… I don’t know. Fucking save you, I guess, which is dumb because you’re all that and I’m all this. Anyway, God kicked me out so it’s _fiiine_.” He waves his hand dismissively.

Luther is so tense, though. Clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth. “You died,” he repeats slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe what he heard. And Klaus thinks he’s focusing on entirely the wrong part of the story.

“Dad was there,” Klaus says. “He’s a surprisingly good barber. Still a shitty father, but a good barber.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Do you think the dead can conjure us or is it only the other way around? Because the more I think about it the more I think he summoned me and I’m not dealing with that bullshit again.”

“I didn’t notice.” Luther breezes right past the terribly interesting part of the story again to go back to the beginning. “You died in the club and I didn’t even notice. You were only trying to…” His face crumples like he’s really going to cry the time.

Klaus’s breathing hitches in his throat and he rises up on his knees, presses his hands awkwardly against his brother’s broad shoulders. Steadying himself and comforting Luther all at once. “Hey, hey,” he starts in a wild panic. “We’re starting over, right? Don’t do this to yourself, it’s just going to weigh you down…” Luther doesn’t look convinced. He still looks like he was going to cry. “You were so fucking loaded you wouldn’t have noticed if _you_ died. Trust me, I’ve been there. When Ben… and that time Diego… you…”

There’s a catch in Klaus’s throat and he can’t quite bring himself to finish those sentences. Jesus, he’d missed out on so much. He looks down and swears he can just make out the burn scars under all that hair. Half of Luther’s chest had been missing. And Klaus had been so high he’d started to believe Diego that it had all been a hallucination. A bad fucking trip.

The scars are real. On both Luther and Diego. And Klaus wasn’t _there_. Christ.

He feels sick and looks away again. Sits firmly back on his heels.

“I told you that you didn’t want to be like me.”

Luther doesn’t hesitate this time. Instead he wraps his meaty hands around Klaus’s thin arms and pulls him in for another awkward hug. Shit, the Apocalypse has really made them a touchy-feely family, hasn’t it?

“I’m glad you came back to us.” Luther smooths a hand through Klaus’s hair. Gingerly. Awkwardly. Too aware of the head injury he’s checking again. Then down Klaus’s spine, in an imitation of comfort.

This is still new to both of them. And so sweet that Klaus’s stomach heaves violently. Or maybe that’s the still healing concussion. Either way, he manages to keep his dinner down which is good. The moment might be uneasy and graceless, but Klaus likes Luther better this way. He didn’t think this fragile thing would survive vomiting all over his brother; that fur must be a beast to get clean again.

“I’m glad you _finally_ got laid,” Klaus replies.


End file.
